


i'll be around

by doublejoint



Category: One Piece
Genre: Established Relationship, Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26904748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: (stay, just a little longer)
Relationships: Smoker/Tashigi/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	i'll be around

**Author's Note:**

> happy belated, tashigi & law

“I’ll be around.” A click on the other end of the dendenmushi, and the line goes dead. 

It’s not much to go on, but it’s about the usual amount for Law, about as much as any of them are comfortable with. He’s a pirate (former shichibukai, operative word being former, operative concept being that the shichibukai most definitely aren’t a thing anymore). They’re marine officers. Justice is justice, and not contained within the square, uniform letters of a rulebook, yes, but pirates are pirates, fundamentally at odds with them, approaching from the opposite path, like the wrong pole of a magnet.

Tashigi’s lips are pressed into a thin line; her misgivings show on her face. Her palm lies open on the table, but it’s not an invitation for Smoker to take it, really. She’s trying to not grip the hilt of her sword or adjust her glasses, to not fall back into a nervous habit that will distract her from how at odds all of this is. Smoker lays down his hand next to hers. They’ve made a choice here, haven’t they? They have to live with having made that choice, or say they can’t. Being miserable the whole way to just cover your bases is pointless.

“I know,” Tashigi says. 

Her pinkie touches his.

“So don’t worry,” says Smoker.

She can’t help but worry; neither can he--he’s just better at masking it behind walls of smoke, but she can see it in him anyway. She sips her coffee, and a drop dribbles down over the edge of the mug, staining its wake. She pushes up her glasses and then, not trusting her body not to override its habits, drops her hand in his.

“It would be nice if he weren’t so damn cryptic,” says Smoker, and at that Tashigi gives a tiny smile.

* * *

Smoker goes to bed early every night. Tonight is no exception; Law won’t escape like a breeze through the window, at least not with Tashigi there to watch him. They keep the lights low, talking in hushed voices, something about the value of a sword and something else about technique; even a pirate can’t get between Tashigi and her weapon of choice. Her hair is coming loose, and Law is looking at her, rapt, his face a little relaxed, a little blurred as if through heavy rain. He leans on his elbow on the table, creasing a sheet of paper for which Tashigi, when she notices, will scrunch her nose and tell him off.

She leans closer to Law, her finger brushing the rim of her coffee mug. There’s still steam coming out; they’ll be up a while. Smoker kisses them both goodnight on the way by, letting a trail of smoke remain before he calls it back into his hands.

* * *

Smoker wakes up in the middle of the night to take a leak; bleary-eyed, he half-notices the light, even dimmer than before, and the hint of motion from Tashigi’s direction when he heads for the door. When he gets back, his head’s clearer; Tashigi’s leaning in toward the light, reading; her hair’s completely fallen out of its bun. Law is asleep in his chair, with Tashigi’s coat draped over him carefully. The coffee in his mug must have long since gone cold and Tashigi’s mug is empty, a few grounds stuck to the bottom. A moth is positioned on the wall, next to the lamp, motionless. Probably asleep, too. 

“Bed,” Smoker says.

Tashigi yawns and nods, rubs her eyes and knocks her glasses off onto the table. The clatter jolts Law upright; he looks from one of them to the other like a startled fish.

“Bed,” Tashigi repeats, standing up, squinting as she fumbles with the buttons on her shirt. 

They fall asleep with Law in the middle, firmly between them like boxes packed for maximum efficiency on a cargo ship.

* * *

Law makes the coffee in the morning, strong the way they all like it, watching the liquid drain down into the carafe and adding water from the kettle intently, as if he’s about to mess up. Everything kind of feels like that for some people early in the morning; Tashigi’s that way too (not counting the several carafes she’s accidentally dropped and broken, or pushed too hard against the wall and cracked). 

It’s a little mesmerizing, though, watching as the water level falls, the grounds forming a canyon at the sides of the filter. Smoker drops his arm around Law’s shoulders. They don’t fall or give any; Law’s used to the weight, even after months of being apart. He always is, though. He leans into Smoker’s shoulder and tops off the water. That should be enough for now, for the three of them.

* * *

“Stay,” Tashigi says. “Just a little longer.”

She juts out her chin.

“I need to be back.”

“Tonight?”

(If you want to make it happen, you can make it happen; it’s something one of Smoker’s superiors had told him way back before he’d been an officer--it hadn’t been about this, maybe, but it still applies here; if you want to shuffle the personnel, get a particular assignment, stay an extra day--why not?)

“Please,” says Tashigi, pushing up her glasses.

Law looks at Smoker. Smoker glares back at him, backing Tashigi up. He puts a hand on her shoulder. 

“Well,” says Law. “I can make it work. Let me make a call, though.”

It’s probably best that he doesn’t let his crew think he’s been kidnapped or thrown in jail, or whatever conclusions they might come to--Smoker’s never met them, but if Law needed rescuing? Smoker can hardly blame them, not for something he might not be able to do himself. Law is a pirate, with a crew; he and Tashigi are marines, with a crew of their own. It would be easy to say that this is all just a simple parallel, that like goes to like, but that’s not it at all. Smoker takes a drag on his cigars, and Tashigi leans into him and pushes up her glasses again. From the next room, Law’s voice on the call filters out, mostly just tone and cadence, no words that they can make out. 


End file.
